Slip of Time

The moon’s a shadow of itself, the only warmth
Are the twinkling stars. No lights for another mile.
The air’s cold, slices through me like a steel knife;
Yes, it comes around, night like this, once a while.

My dreams stifled, slash through me, and scream
Out in despair on dying this sudden death.
I feel their desperate gnawing against my soul,
While on my fingers settles their morbid breath.

That path is right, and correct. Yet it sleeps there
Covered beneath stratagems, and spoils of a past,
Distant and unseeing. I dare not wade through
For the fear of them vipers still holds just as fast.

Yet, I must try, so I tip toe along the edges.
The owls moan and flutter past, while the moss
Groans on being disturbed. It’s then when I see
Her – just a swish of the skirt. And then all is lost.

I am lost with nothing to find. I follow the trails,
Her enchanting scent is the only prize. The end,
Now forgotten, makes the means seem to matter.
And it’s in her magical favour the scales ascend.

I see her then, distant, aloof, swaying to a rhythm.
Her eyes are closed, and she softly licks her lips.
No wonder the moon had taken refuge, for her
Beauty had been carved out of sliver arrow tips.

She looks my way, her sensual glow not fading;
I am drawn to her, but, to my wonder, she to me.
Our love is instant, for ever, but best, it’s silent; for
Her words I don’t understand, yet they set me free.

We dance on the dew laced grass, stepping on each
Other’s toes; the music of the night is our symphony.
The otters and the moles call out to their mates;
We don’t mind – for we bask in their furry company.

She takes me to this special place, on a beam of her
Moonlight we ride. I gasp in awe, but more in wonder;
For in dreams this is where I want to be. I kiss her in
Gratitude, pray against reason never to cast us asunder.

As I lie by her side under a canopy of fiery stars,
I vow to myself how I am never finding my way back.
And running my rough fingers through her silken hair,
My memory tries to forget that very same track.

But she whispers softly in my ears how I must be
On my way. My end must be she, not other way round.
I protest in vain for she argues reason;
And with a heavy heart I trace my steps around.

I slowly find my path, “So out of place”, I wonder.
And soon it dawns how everything was a Slip of Time.
An asylum from banal reality, in guise of a mistress
Of words. How fitting I should sing of it in rhyme!